Thoughts on the Wind
by Takatome Ichido
Summary: The small words of a small woman, unknown to many, are revealed in their truest form, in their highest expressions of peace and sorrow.
1. Life is precious

          When I first met him, I did not like him at all.  And, in all honesty, I suppose I never could truly forgive him, even if… even if I… _do love him with all my being…._

          He killed who was to be my husband, a sweet and gentle man who loved all.  I never knew why he carried a sword around but I could forgive that.  My fiancé would never willingly kill a man.  He was so gentle in his soul.

          But… _that man.  __He never minded killing others, too caught up in the righteousness of it all, as he always was, shedding blood and heaping it with more blood for the sake of his precious revolution.  I still cannot understand it._

          Then I met him in that small little restaurant in a town that was just recently being torn from its peace.  _He had shattered that tranquil peace.  We sat back to back, him and I, ordering whatever we wished.  I smiled with praise at the restaurant; they were always so kind and generous, never allowing a customer to go unsatisfied and today would be no other.  But… those __brutes, men that remind me strongly of __him, wanted to shatter that peace, bringing it upon themselves to find one to punish.  I would have gladly taken that punishment but __he could never allow them to do such things.  In a way, I am glad that he would protect another but he swore violence.  __Nothing is solved in such a horrible manner._

          Then, one night, walking alone as I do, just breathing in the serenity of the night, I saw him in all his fury and rage, though no anger smoldered within him.  He was just a killing machine without pause and I could see right through his transparent shield.  Captivated in with the speed and haste that he could just lay down a man's life, the cold knowledge that it was _he and no other who must have killed my fiancé, I watched the scene of disgust.  But… it was too horrible, too revolting, too abhorrent and so I felt myself grow dizzy.  The nauseating stench of blood rose into the air along with the cries of the innocent and not so innocent and I cried along with them.  By the time he noticed me, the three men who had opposed him lay dead, red staining the precious earth.  He turned, those luminous orbs training on me, shame shining within their depths, and we spoke, I saying to him what needed to be said, he listening._

          Covered in the blood of his victims, I fainted, perhaps falling into his arms.  That I do not know, though I was told he took me home.

Life is precious… 


	2. Life is beauty

          In my home, all knew who he was, though not as deeply as I could conceive.  They feared his quick temper and impulsive, reckless decisions to just end a life, being jocular and facetious until he threatened to a draw a sword.  Then all grew quiet.  Apologies were hastily said with all consideration and the others retired to allow him his solitude.

          But the killings within the village and surrounding countryside did not cease as he came to apply himself to our facilities; they increased.  By night, he destroyed lives, homes, dreams, ambitions, by day he remained tense, on edge, perpetually washing his hands again and again.  So he was wounded by his actions, as I like to imagine his cheek was wounded by my fiancé.  Knowing that my satisfaction with his shame was a depraved thought, I felt guilt as well but could not help a small, inner smirk.  _That was wrong._

          Every time he killed, he tried to wash the imperceptible stains from his hands.

_Life is beauty…_


	3. Life is not hate

          He was a beautiful man, physically, with soft flowing hair, gentle eyes and a smooth, curved face of ancestry that belied his other attributes.  But that could change in an instance; his soulful eyes became devoid and blinked into amber that foretold of ferocity; I can only believe that that was my fiancé's last sight to behold.  I only saw that gaze directed at me once, but it will always linger within my mind.

          He was sleeping, calm and, for once, at peace.  None of the malice that I saw within him was there and, to me, he could have been an eight-year-old boy sleeping away the loss of his parents.  For, even though he was serene, his brow was slightly troubled with sorrow; he had carried that sorrow around him for years.

          I came near to touch him, allow him to look at the new, lighter color I had chosen for him; I hoped to make him something new so that he would not have to wear old, blood-stained clothing.  The cloth rustled against him.

          Waking up, those eyes of amber cresting into his soul, his sword was at my throat, his fist bringing me close, and I could only stare with fear into those eyes.  The fear, the trepidation, it all flooded into me as I could only stare in horror at what years as a killer had done to a frightened boy and wonder _what could have killed that little boy so.   The seconds dragged onwards…_

          Then his eyes flooded into his lighter hue and I was cast aside.  His back heaved with emotion and I saw what I didn't think he could truly possess: shame.  Even though I saw guilt many times, it was never like this, never directed towards one he had _almost killed.  My heart… melted… at the sight of a naughty child in need of help and, all at once, I forgave him.  I forgave him his assumptions of hospitalities, the fatalities he had suffered upon others, the anger he gave towards the others, and the anger that he gave towards me.  He was lost, lost nearly to tears, and I wept and smiled for him, settling down to make his new garment._

Life is not hate… 


	4. Life is simplicity

          He slept peacefully beside me that day, slumped against a wall, knowing that I would never allow harm to come to him, until the Wolves of Mibu came.  These men would never change and they flaunted that flaw within their characters.  _They were truly deplorable, even more so than he was.  They all possessed the same chilling amber eyes that he could bring to his command at will, flaunting their bloodstained clothing to the public.  Yes, they were truly deplorable._

          Japan was in the throes of war.  I knew that then and I know it know.  I know that the senseless acts of violence brutally acted out upon the innocents are done within the name of peace, underneath a façade of serenity that will supposedly make life greater for us all.  But, how is that justified when all of us may not make it to this new, better world and enjoy this peace?  Why create such death so that none may enjoy the fruits?  Why commence this futile exercise against humanity?

          My duty with the children is the greatest work that I believe that I can do; there is nothing that gives me greater peace or joy to see all those children come together, be together, live together.  I tell of them every day and hope that I may continue to speak of their young, naïveté antics every day of my life.  They are the greatest gifts to ever be granted.

          But… I did not know that _he could appreciate the children as I do.  I would never have known that he could walk within their midst and be one with their gentle spirits, to easily tolerate their roughhousing, even when it meant damage to his own pride.  It is amazing that __children can humble even the greatest of mortals._

          And it is even more amazing to see that man humbling himself to accept and return the affection of one shy girl, taken by him, never knowing what he is.  If only all the troubles of the world could be viewed within the omniscient eyes of a child….

Life is simplicity… 


	5. Life is not so simple

          By then, I knew.

          One day, long after it had been since I had seen him and long since I had started worrying, my younger brother came back.  My younger brother likes to make himself an outcast, as is popularly known, even though the other children would love to have his company; he is strong, fast, and sure in his movements.  I fear that one day he will make a fine samurai, like _he is.  I fear already that I see the aura of a killer behind his haunted adult eyes; how could he have grown so?_

          But, he arrived home alone, as usual, with one of the children running out to meet him, excited and anticipating stories of all my brother's travels, the other looking up to him only to be struck upon the head in a fierce blow.  Oh, little brother, how could you be…?

          He tried his best but my brother simply did not like him.  I cannot blame my brother, though, he must obviously sense in him what I know.

          But still… my younger brother worries me.  He is full of rage, full of hate, full of all that he is not!  They are so opposite, so similar, nothing alike and yet the same.  Should they find common ground, their affection would grow, but my brother will not allow it and I weep tears of sadness for the lone soul of my gentle brother, who does not yet know what it is to be gentle.  One day, he will learn, one day, he will learn of the love that I have for him and no other and he will become calm, sated, able to live his life fully.  Please… allow that to happen soon, so that he will know no more tears….

          When we spoke, it was trifle things at first, my pleas for him to be good, as I knew that he could be, and his half consent, as it always was.  But, for a few brief moments, he seemed so happy and contented with me and I with him.  The bond that we share is special beyond words and I am thankful each moment that I am with my gentle brother.  But, as quick as a snake, he can turn as treacherous as one, it seems.

          He wants an alliance with vile men, as detestable if not more than _he is__.  I don't know why he would want that; I know what it means, is that not enough, dear brother?  Why won't he stop those ambitions that threaten to completely devour his childlike spirit and allow him to live on as a __child?  Why must he grow up when he is not ready?  My brother, beloved by me as no other is, ran away from me that very night, where to, I do not know.  He left with such anger, it was as though he was running from me, running from my life, and I would never see his joyous smile again._

Life is not so simple… 


	6. Life is peace Life is impossible withou...

          He is beautiful; he will always be beautiful to me.

          That night, he showed me the beauty that lurked beneath his physical attraction, and I was captivated.

          I… I had grown emotional from the shock of it all, from my brother running from me, running towards the end of his innocence, from the chill and the cold, my fiancé slain by the man I was now infatuated with, from the death lurking about the village.   I had known that he was curious when he had stepped within my room while I was writing, and had wanted to know whom my brother and I might be.  I told him all, my calm exterior never changing, though I felt the turbulence of my soul raging all about me.  It wasn't that that broke my wall towards him it wasn't speaking.

          I was to hand him a simple cup of tea, just a cup from myself to him.  There was no attachment within that simple offering, just it in itself.  But, it reminded me strongly of what had happened only a while ago, in a moment of utter joy within myself.  It was, in the end, connected to him.

          It was a dowry offering from my fiancé to myself, a beautiful ornate hair pin that I would have cherished even if it were nothing but crude clay.  It was the man who I treasured.

          But I saw my fiancé lying dead from the hands of a murderer and I would have left, the tears building within my eyes, but I could not.  I just collapsed and clung to him, exhausting my sorrow to the murderer, letting him know my pain and angst.  That is when he grew beautiful, showing me that he too felt the pain of that death.

          Later that night, I smiled for him and him alone.  He knew the significance.

          As do I.

          Now I see the promise of future with him, with the man I love above all, even if his past is stained with blood and he does not ever think that he will cease his killing.  I know.  I know that, soon, sooner than even _he may think, he will kill the last victim in a meaningless revolution and never kill again, even if he cannot keep himself from the sword for years afterward.  I know him as I know my brother.  Both are hard to change but one day, maybe one day together, they will change towards peace and true prosperity in which none may have to kill the other, or __any other.  I pray for their peace as I do for the children's and of this chaos-ridden country's._

          I walk with my thoughts and prayers to the wind, in hopes that they shall be carried to other lands that need them more and that the thought of peace will circulate to all.  My last thoughts will be of another's salvation and of my deep love towards my young, confused brother Enishi and the love that I hold dear to my heart, Himura Kenshin, the killer within Kyoto.

Life IS peace… 

          Several hours after her last entry, the hands of her love killed Tomoe.  She allowed this in order that his salvation be realized.  Never knowing of that, her younger brother Enishi had caught the end of that scene and bitterly blamed Himura Kenshin for his sister's demise, becoming obsessed with his sister and the image of the Battousai, the killer of so many.  He knew that he would kill the man who had killed his sister and caused him this final act of pain that was so intense that his hair turned white and, when within the throes of intense battle, caused large veins to pop from his flesh, a "gift" from Tomoe.  But, both his and Kenshin's happiness were realized after years of suffering in which both of them blamed themselves and many others for the death of the innocent, pure Tomoe.  At least, their souls can attempt to rest even as Tomoe smiles quietly upon the wind, her thoughts and prayers of peace still floating through the lands of chaos to this day.

Life is impossible without peace… 


End file.
